Ideas, Ideals, Realities

IDEAS, IDEALS, REALITIES Community and heritage in Bormla

By Patricia Camilleri

A sense of place is understandably common amongst those who have grown up in a community. Some families will have lived in a particular town or village for generations. While conducting some research in Bormla – or Cospicua – a town of 5,000 inhabitants in the Southern Harbour area of Malta, I listened to various community ‘voices’. My conclusion was that their attachment to Bormla ran so deep that it demanded an explanation that was not going to be uncovered through simplistic declarations of familial connections.

Community is a word that we frequently hear with reference to race, religion and place. We talk about community diasporas as well as closed communities. However diverse, local or global these groups are, they share communalities which are important enough to allow the individual a place within that group. We can, of course, be part of more than one group, possibly several. Our adherence to a group can vary between superficial and visceral whilst extricating oneself from a community or joining a new one can be complicated.

Shared information and the passing on of skills and techniques through traditions, rituals and stories has always been the strength on which communities relied and survived. Cultures tend to create mythic, significant narratives, of which Malta has many, which are told and retold and provide a handle to grasp onto in a changing world. To use a much-quoted phrase in museology, these are the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. They are not supposed to represent the truth but that does not mean that they cannot denote authenticity. A well functioning community also knows that those myths have to be flexible for the group to survive and flourish.

Over the centuries, perceptions of community have changed – from the Greek city state, to a concept subservient to ‘society’ and, later, the ‘nation’. More recently, sociologists have defined adherence to a community as a search for identity and belonging and, with the arrival of advanced communication technology, communities have accessed a global arena as never before. Strangely, however, the more global our world has become, the more the ‘local’ has taken on new significance amongst urban, suburban and rural communities. It is as though they sense that the global may see them integrated, nolens volens, into a vast group that might not appreciate the things that are meaningful to them.

Communities provide markers of memory, both to the physical and to the ephemeral. They contain layers of recollection that are laid at different stages of an individual’s life and that of the group as a whole. In this way, a palimpsest of history is created and these various ‘histories’ are recalled through community initiatives today. They take on myriad forms and express past events and traditions, be they of old or more recent origin. However, these events would not take place unless there were a need to do so, a feeling that members of the community

are taking something from them but also giving something back.

Some are uneasy about the very concept of a community that unites people and point to the individualistic and the precarious existence of many people in today’s world. This may be true and one should not try to romanticise community or get carried away with images of unadulterated positivity. As many researchers in the field have found, community memory can be fickle and selective. It would be doing the concept of ‘community’ an injustice if it were to remain a political word that oozes a ‘feel good’ factor and ignores the significant challenges that are inherent in many groups. It is a far more complex concept than that.

Nevertheless, there is ample evidence both in this country and beyond that being part of a community can be a profound and life enhancing experience. The concept is often associated with genuine and enduring sentiments, with relationships and community of place and with mutual connections that are reinforced within the group. These links clearly play a strong part in creating, maintaining and consolidating emotional ties. In this land of saints and fireworks, band clubs and church bells, community still has a powerful resonance.

It is often said that humans are social animals and it really does seem that we all need to feel part of a group. Even if our decision is to live ‘off the grid’ we are still part of a community of people who have chosen that particular life style. Most of us, however, recognise ourselves within the company of others, not just family but local residents, fellow philatelists or football enthusiasts. Just to throw in a statistic, there are some two thousand NGOs registered with Malta’s Commission for Voluntary Organisations.

The visceral attachment to a place and a space, such as that expressed by the people of Bormla, has been described as topophilia, and is akin to the attachment of a farmer to his land. Bormla provided both a physical intimacy and, for many decades, a material dependence. It was a contained space of memory, community and hope. In this urban environment, it was the physicality of the enveloping fortifications that helped to create a feeling of security. Once the tunnels are traversed, the people of Bormla feel they have come home. Although poverty was barely mentioned directly by my respondents, it was clear that earlier hardship was also a uniting factor, as was the fact that many of them had worked for the Dockyard in one capacity or another. The home space and the workplace had been, for most, within walking distance.

Through listening to the respondents, through discussions with those close to Bormla and with the artists and artisans of that city, it became very clear that the landscape, the spiritual, the built environment and the emotional and psychological engagement with place played a huge part in how they viewed themselves individually and as part of the whole. Such a community manifests its ties to memory, history, common places, time together, and similar experiences through its cultural heritage.

If asked about the cultural heritage of Malta and Gozo, most people would probably include in their reply the Knights of St John and their architectural and artistic legacy. Others would add the Neolithic Temples and, perhaps the Ħal

“There is ample evidence both in this country and beyond that being part of a community can be a profound and life enhancing experience.”

Above: People line the streets for the Good Friday procession in Bormla Saflieni Hypogeum. Those are, without doubt, significant cultural objects and part of Malta’s archaeology and history. These are the most mentioned in schools and are the images that the Malta Tourism Authority places on London buses. It is gratifying to see Malta promoted as more than a beach resort. However, as the Council of Europe Framework Convention on the Value of Cultural Heritage for Society 2005 reminds us, cultural heritage is about more than the most obvious and well known and involves every single one of us: ‘a heritage community consists of people who value specific aspects of cultural heritage which they wish, within the framework of public action, to sustain and transmit to future generations’ (Faro, 27.X.2005).

A community recalls that which gives it meaning and which it values. This could be something that is generally considered as high culture such as a revered titular painting at the parish church or it could be the tradition of a football club. Individuals may have particular reasons to give objects heritage status for themselves or within their family group. Larger communities also make choices about what they wish to represent to the community itself and to those outside it as heritage assets. The question of how others can identify and communicate with that community is very often resolved through heritage – both tangible and intangible.

Heritage is that which a community, however large or small, decides to carry with them from history into the present day in the hope and expectation that it will still be valued in the future. As the cultural philosopher Cassirer reminds us, many of the things that are important to us, such as religion, language and art are never tangible for us except in the testaments that are created to express them. It is through these ‘tokens, memorials, and reminders’ that we can perceive meaning. The cultural object is a reflection of our inventiveness and artistry which, like other objects, has its place in space and time.

Objects are not simply what they appear to be – a vase, an oil painting, a wedding ring, a shopping basket, a Good Friday procession. ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’, Magritte’s famous declaration on a painting of 1929, tells us that it is an image and not the real thing but it also means that it is not just a pipe but so much more. The depths of meaning and memory stretch far beyond the object – in the widest possible interpretation of that word. Cultural objects are, together with the natural environment, our world.

Many cultural testaments will be among that canon of objects significant to a particular country or even globally. But other memorials might be objects that are not even protected by legislation, nor accepted generally as culturally significant. They could be ephemeral objects such as song, spontaneous poetry, and ritual performances or more material ones such as vernacular architecture that are not generally valued according to the ‘higher’ ideals. However, these ‘lesser’ testaments are significant culturally because they reflect the creativity of a family or a group or a community. They give rise to feelings of self-esteem, belonging and are part of a meaningful existence. If we lose sight of them, their memory will no longer enrich our present day experience.

It is not simply that people are grasping at a fading past. They are nostalgic in the most positive sense of the word which is no longer regarded as a negative notion but as a strength which serves to consolidate social connection and continuity, that gives confidence, enhances self-worth and appreciation of one’s surroundings. And such sentiments are not limited to the people directly involved in a particular community. The cultural indicators that mean so much in a local context can also hold great significance for visitors both local and international who search for historical objects. Heritage markers of all kinds are appreciated, understood, desired and are meaningful also to a wider audience.

The idea of heritage also and increasingly involves many other structures in our society. The economic value of cultural heritage cannot simply be measured in ticket sales at the main sites. We know that it has the potential to improve the quality of life for individuals and a community. It can increase an understanding of the past and thus help develop historical literacy but it can also drive economic growth. Cultural assets can and do create employment opportunities and give a new lease of life to dying artisanal and artistic skills.

Towns such as Birgu (Vittoriosa) grew throughout the 1990s and the early 2000s. Previously the town had no restaurants, just one or two coffee shops and was visited only by the most intrepid tourists. It benefitted from the setting up of the Malta Maritime Museum, the installation of the Vittoriosa Waterfront and the restoration of Fort St Angelo. However, these assets were accompanied by sensitive restoration within the town itself. Once people began to see that the more was done to restore the town, the more visitors came, Birgu began to flourish.

During this time, Bormla remained hidden from view by the high walls of the Dockyard.

The usual economic markers again said it all – few coffee shops, no restaurants and only basic retail and a reputation that discouraged outsiders. Some people had the foresight to ‘buy in’ to Bormla before its inevitable renaissance. They made the right decision both culturally and economically. As soon as the Dockyard closed in 2010, Bormla started to open its doors. Long aware of its own value – a beautiful walled town steeped in history, a parish church that survived the ravages of war, artisans of excellence, a people enriched by its seafaring history – the city began to welcome visitors. Some came to stay, others just came to discover the underappreciated gems of Bormla. It still remains a town with social issues, which are not going to disappear just because the soot and the high walls have been cleared, but now it can breathe.

The people of this city have a great respect for the history of the Dockyard. Hated at first, they know how important it eventually became to them not only as a livelihood for themselves but as a forum for their development. However, although the significance of the Dockyard was always acknowledged, I did not meet anyone who actually said that they would like it back. The world has changed and the residents have come to understand that there are other opportunities for development still very close to home. The people of Bormla are beginning to realise that their cultural heritage, including the vestiges of the Dockyard, is now a very valuable asset. They were pleased to be able to view the now watery dry dock, look across to Senglea and walk around the British and Knights’ buildings, closed to them since c. 1840.

Fortunately, Bormla is in time to use its newly acquired openness in a sustainable way. The community has a chance to manifest its cultural assets to visitors who search for those fascinating alleyways, steep stepped streets, old houses, magnificent fortifications and traditional cultural practices. Restaurants have opened, cafés are always full and, in addition to ecclesiastical performances, secular cultural events are taking place. It is Bormla’s unique heritage that will bring in interested visitors and with them financial benefits.

There are dangers inherent in this kind of growth including gentrification – the pushing out of local people and the appearance of residents who might not wish to pursue the practices of the local community. But this can be recognised from the outset and accounted for. This group of people has been welcoming ‘the other’ for centuries and will surely be able to manage this new influx.

Cultural heritage by definition always belongs to someone. It ‘belongs’ to those who made it and it currently has an owner – a private individual, the church or government but also the Maltese people. Each of these owners knows that if cultural assets, both the physical and the ephemeral, are to survive they need to keep them in good repair so that they can be shared with others. The value of these heritage objects was embodied in them as they were created and that value is appreciated in the present and, if preserved and used, can survive to be enjoyed by the next generation and beyond.

If we manage our cultural heritage in an intelligent and sustainable way we shall be able to move forward more equitably, without regret, respecting our past, our present and our future. n

The people of Bormla are beginning to realise that their cultural heritage, including the vestiges of the Dockyard, is now a very valuable asset.

Patricia Camilleri holds a doctorate in community and heritage studies and is president of The Archaeological Society Malta

Ballistics & experience, the tough job of a

BOMBARDIER

By Stanley Farrugia Randon

Firing of the 4-pounder cannon from the roof of Wignacourt Tower on 10 February 2020.

Din l-Art Ħelwa takes care of a number of coastal towers which were armed with cannon. The guards of these towers received training. However the bombardier was not an ordinary guard because he had to receive special training on how to use the cannon.

In the eighteenth century bombardiers attended a school at St Andrew’s Bastion, a large pentagonal bulwark commanding the entrance of the Marsamxett harbour. Other places were used for practice, such as the bastions of St Elmo, the ditch at St Elmo and ships in port using a ‘caicco’ (boat) as a target. Coastal caves were sometimes used as targets, towards which the cannon balls were shot from the sea.

The importance of cannon grew exponentially between the sixteenth and the eighteenth centuries, aided by mathematicians and scientists who conducted experiments to increase the range and penetration of the projectiles being shot, as well as by refined techniques which produced more uniform bores during the manufacturing of the cannon in their foundries.

The number of cannon and their weight hampered the movement of armies. While ordinance powerful enough to destroy was too bulky, the lighter guns which were easy to maneouver with armies, lacked the power to destroy. This was not a real problem in Malta as most cannons were not needed to advance against any attacking army on land. Cannons were either stationed on the roofs of towers which had to be built with stronger roofs to spport their load, or on ships where they were stationary.

In the seventeenth century, the bombardier did not learn ballistics and so it was mostly a matter of experience. A bombardier could only obtain full seniority as capomastro after 15 years of service and four complete caravans carried out on the galleys. Ballistics was still an art.